


Somewhere else to hear the call

by 35391291



Series: Guadalupana [1]
Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Gen, Magical Realism, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sentient Nature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 15:03:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/35391291/pseuds/35391291
Summary: There is a frontier within him, one he carries wherever he goes. He can't step over it to the other side, and neither can anyone else. He is walking on invisibly. He might as well not be there at all.A story about belonging, freedom and the sky. And of course, the devil's debt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from [Walking Spanish](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qtfsIRHk1k), by Tom Waits.

_And when you make a wish. And you get the wish. Never let it go, it’s no struggle._

The Go-Betweens: [The mountains near Dellray](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HSh6R28g_Sw).

*

The sky goes up in green feathered flames. It fills the empty space where his heart ought to be. People and places change, but the sky is the same, wherever he goes. It covers and hides him, and it's the only thing that he can rely upon, the only thing that still makes sense.

But he has been betrayed. Over here, there are not enough words to describe how it feels. This country and this language take everything away from him. His name, his voice, his thoughts. He is a man outside the law and he shouldn't have the right. But he feels that something has been stolen from him, something that he can never get back. He has left without saying goodbye, the way his dreams always do, and he will never be able to go back. Everything moves forward, everything but him. The wind blows him out and he is a candle, an unsent letter. He is scattered in all directions, fading into the cold and the morning sun.

Vasquez knows what it's like. To be always in between, half a shadow standing on the threshold of nothingness, with a border around his heart. Nothing helps. Not prayers, not tricks, not tall tales from days gone by. Not running until he is close to crumbling down. And yet, the next thing he knows he is running blind, so fast that he can no longer see his past. But maybe it's for the better. He doesn't belong there anymore, and he won't belong here either. Even if he wanted to, he wouldn't know how to stop running. There is a frontier within him, one he carries wherever he goes. He can't step over it to the other side, and neither can anyone else. He is walking on invisibly. He might as well not be there at all.

He doesn't know how to believe anymore. All he has is empty hands, a broken compass and a map of scars, with pain folded and hidden in every corner. But the things that hurt the most are the ones that he can't see. The sorrows he keeps inside his heart and the cross he carries, both getting heavier day by day. And all the restless ghosts. His mother's words are a faint echo deep inside his heart. Sometimes, her rosary is too much to bear. He feels unworthy of it, as if his hands will dirty it with the story of everything he has gone through, and everything he has done. It used to be his light in the darkness, but it has flickered and gone out now, slipping away from him like everything he has ever held dear. So he carries on, alone.

This should have been an opportunity to start over, to leave no trail behind him. To shed his old skin for a new name, a new story, a new life. He thinks it will give him freedom, but he is wrong. A new day is never a new beginning, and he is still left in the dark, still a wanted man. On this side of the world, he is nothing but an empty shell. It makes no sense at first. But later, he has to remember how to be himself. He has to say all those words over and over, even if they only stay inside his head. He has to remember his name and tell himself that he is someone, no matter what people say. And he tries to fill that void. Alcohol, cigars and gunpowder make up his mask. It shouldn't feel good, but it does. He has to be stronger, reckless and larger than life, so he can escape his own frailty. If he dies here and now, no one will understand him. No one will remember, so he has to forget. It hurts, but if he falls, it's for the better. He might find himself somewhere in the depths. He is still real, still here. And they haven't caught up with him. Not yet.

There is no freedom for men like him, and he is used to being the shadow. So he never expects to be understood so well by the man who is supposed to turn him in. But they are both used to being invisible, running with the devil at their heels, and a truce makes sense. It doesn't change anything, it doesn't erase all the wrong turns. It just means that someone else knows, someone else is out there in the darkness. It's a place to rest, even if only for a moment. Life is never easy. But if everyone carries their sorrows, he can bear his own. Just a little while longer.

The world becomes louder. He has chased the wind and, just as he expected, it leads him towards the storm. The desert is cruel, but he doesn't feel it. Nothing can hurt him now, because there is nothing left to be hurt. He is too far gone, too tired to laugh at death when it comes close. He knows it's time to pay the devil's debt. And his shroud will have no pockets, so it's no use, he has to give it all back. He has to let go. But he needs just a little more time. He isn't ready.

He looks up, and the sky is still there, it still speaks his language. It has another name now, hidden between darkness and silence. But he knows it, and that's enough. For a moment, everything is real, sharp and bright red. A rosary in the gutter. A crow, maybe a medal, or a crossroads. Three Marias. Three stones in the hearth. Three stars dreaming about fire. They might not grant wishes anymore, but it doesn't matter. And it doesn't hurt to try. He has nothing left to lose, so he might as well fight back once more. He will stumble and fall, but the sky still knows who he is. And it is still his to keep. Maybe, this could be freedom.

And it's not too late, and he doesn't want to let go. And it's not funny, he shouldn't laugh. But, just to spite the devil, he might.


End file.
